A Fate Worse Than Death
by Matthias
Summary: Long ago, the Sanguine, a dark group of Vampires, were laid to rest by a deadly curse. Now the Sanguine heed the call of the one who can control them, and walk Middle Earth once again, as the Fellowship departs from Rivendell. Follows LOTR.
1. A Fate Worse Than Death

A/N: In this story, the word "Sanguine" is used in relation to the old French/Latin meaning, "bloody", or in this context, "bloodthirsty one", the name the vampires in this story have adopted.  
  
A movement out of the corner of my eye...as I turned, I caught a glimpse of something out the corner of my eye...a pale, humanoid figure.  
  
The next second, glaring red eyes, so sinister chills ran up my spine, caught my own. For a second that was an eternity, the eyes held me, and inside me a distant voice screamed at me urgently to look away, to close my eyes. The voice disappeared, and nothing existed except the cold, red eyes...  
  
"Be silent. Sit, and do not move," a cold voice hissed.  
  
Odd...the creature had not spoken aloud... yet the voice chilled me to the bone. Maybe I'm going crazy; voices in your head are definitely not a good sign...  
  
I tried to call out, except that no sound came out... The figure chuckled, the sound piercing my heart like thousands of tiny needles.  
  
"You still have not learned. It is foolish to try and resist..."  
  
With a start, I realized that I was sitting, and quite unable to move my mouth, or, for that matter, any other part of my body. The figure chuckled again.  
  
"You are ready for the first segment of your transformation. But do not think you are even close to one of the Sanguine..." The voice had an odd way of speaking, a constant hiss that somehow shaped itself into words. And there was the fact that it seemed to come from inside my own head...  
  
The figure suddenly lowered itself, latching onto my arm. A cruel grin spread across its lips as his head lowered, fangs bared.  
  
As I realized its intention, I squirmed as hard as I could, trying to push myself away from this fearful apparition. All in vain; my body would not respond to my commands. Fanged teeth buried into my arm, and a scream tore itself out of me. Except that no sound came. The figure sucked, and my blood flowed. Agony beyond anything I had ever felt before tore through my body, along with a curious feeling as all the blood in my body rushed towards my open wound, into the pale mouth.  
  
Stars burst across my vision, my lungs burned for oxygen and my heart began to slow in beating as I lost more blood than my system could handle. Finally, the apparition tore away, licking his fangs. I tried to look at my arm, but my head would not move. The pale figure raised his own wrist to his mouth, puncturing it with his long, razor sharp fangs, equally as white as his skin. Blood began to flow out of the vein; not human blood, dark blood, black as midnight. The wrist was shoved into my mouth.  
  
"Drink." The voice commanded.  
  
My mouth opened itself of its own accord, and I sucked hungrily on the wrist. Even as my body was dying, I had no chance to do anything. All that mattered was the wrist; that I keep drinking.  
  
Distantly, I watched myself, watched my body suck hungrily on the pale wrist, watched as my body died. My body lost its energy, unable to hold on to the wrist any longer, or to even sit upright. I fell to the floor with a distant thump, my vision started to fade. I watched, unable to do anything, heard my own death rattle in my ears, before everything faded. 


	2. Let's Take A Glance At The Fellowship!

"There is something following us..." Legolas whispered to Aragorn.  
  
"You are sure? I have seen nothing." The nature-hardened ranger replied.  
  
"There are some advantages an elf has over a human...quite a number actually," retorted the blond archer with a smirk.  
  
"Should we inform the others?" Aragorn asked.  
  
"No need to raise a panic, mellon. Especially so soon after Gandalf's demise," at this Legolas faltered, feeling grief for his lost friend, "I am sure the future king of Gondor and I can easily handle whatever is tailing us. There is no need to take unnecessary risks however, especially with a Hobbit as important as we have with us. I will stay close to Frodo; do not alert our pursuer that we are aware of him until he makes the first move. We cannot afford to waste any time hunting this stalker; as you well know, orcs will soon be swarming over these hills. We need to reach Lothlorien."  
  
"Do you doubt my woodland skills now, mellon? Of course I won't alert it. I thought you knew me better than that." Aragorn smiled to take the sting out of the words.  
  
The Fellowship marched along, Legolas studiously watching the four Hobbits, Boromir staring off into space, Gimli muttering to himself under his beard; the words "elf" and "long haired wussy" could occasionally be heard. Aragorn stayed in the back, hand on his sword under his cloak and alert.  
  
'I hope this thing will not reveal himself before we can reach Lothlorien', Aragorn thought to himself, 'As Legolas said, we can afford no distractions. I only wish Gandalf was here...'at this, Aragorn felt a stab of pain in his heart, 'He would know what to do. Gandalf trusts me as leader, but how well can I do? Already, animosity is building among the Fellowship,' Aragorn stole a glance at Boromir, still dreaming his little fantasy, then at Gimli, now muttering about "the feminine pretty boy". Aragorn sighed and shook his head.  
  
'I only hope they can hold themselves until we reach Lothlorien...the orcs will be all over us soon, and with them things much deadlier than orcs...'  
  
Aragorn had no idea how right he was. 


	3. A Feast

A/N: The first chapter of this fic was written in the first person...the rest will not be. And for some reason, Fanfiction.net won't let me upload bold/italics (anyone know what's wrong? I'm using Window's XP Professional and Microsoft word. I have tried to add the HTML tags but they don't work either).  
  
Darkness. No moon, no stars. Utter, complete darkness. Sight should be impossible, yet he could see. And he could feel. Oh yes, the feeling that never went away, that drove him half mad. The lust. The need.  
  
He could feel it inside him. The feral rage. He knew what he had become; days ago he would have screamed at the realization. Now he regarded it with complete indifference; there is no use fighting the inevitable.  
  
Slowly, he took his dagger and ran the tip along his wrist. Blood dripped out, a dark red, not quite black but nowhere near the colour of human blood either. A grin appeared on his face at the sight of blood. The lust nearly overtook him. Involuntarily, his teeth retracted, and suddenly fangs ran along his upper and lower jaw.  
  
He shuddered slightly. His memory was foggy since he had been turned, but he could remember his body dying. Then the transformation began. The new blood had worked its way through his stomach, reviving his brain, setting his black heart beating once again. His skin had paled considerably, not completely white; light shades of a healthier colour still remained. He had drawn breath again, through dead lungs.  
  
Now he had no need. He stopped his heart from beating; it was pointless. He had long since dropped the habit of breathing.  
  
He was one of them. The very species he hated. A Sanguine. The thought no longer filled him with dread. Not quite a Sanguine yet: somewhere half between one of the legendary vampires and the human he used to be, and still was in some ways. Most of his blood was vampiric, yet some human blood still flowed through his veins. Until this remainder was drained, he would always be in this state. He had many of the Sanguine powers, and also a few of their weaknesses.  
  
He could stay out in the daylight. The human part of him gave him protection from the sunlight deadly to other vampires. Yet he could not even begin to match one of the true Sanguine; the weakest could snap him up and have him suffering in eternal pain without an effort. He was somewhat of...an apprentice. Entrusted with a taste of the undead powers, but not burdened with the major weaknesses.  
  
He no longer needed sleep. He did not need air. His senses were magnified beyond belief. His body had gone numb to most forms of pain. He healed with unnatural speed. He had the intense vision of the Sanguine, able to see in any circumstances. He moved with unnatural speed. He had unnatural strength, yet neither as developed as that of a true Sanguine. He could mould the earth underneath him, envelop himself in it, and absorb the nutrients in the soil, recovering himself faster of wounds.  
  
He did not need food anymore. At least not as he did before. Now he lusted after a new type of nourishment. That of blood. His body would deteriorate and paralyze if he did not receive the blood he so craved. His body would inform him when he needed a new supply of blood.  
  
And now it was screaming that he did. This is why he stalked the shadows, just on the outskirts of a great forest. Lothlorien he thought it was called. He had ventured through Moria, following this Fellowship of the Ring. He knew this group was important in the saving of all the free peoples of Middle Earth, but he no longer cared. He lusted only for fulfillment, to be drained of the last of his human blood, to become a Sanguine in reality. That was the reward promised to him after he finished this task.  
  
Through Moria he had fed on the foul orcs there. Their blood did not satisfy him, but it was better than nothing. But now he hunted richer prey. Oh yes, this blood would be sweet.  
  
He could hear the beating heart. He could see the pulsing veins. He could feel the stark terror radiating off the elf, as he searched for who was stalking him. The elf turned, and he knew that now was the time to strike.  
  
With blinding speed, he...flowed...to cut the elf off. His horrified gasp was music to the half-vampire's ears.  
  
"Dear Valar...they cannot be free again," whispered the elf.  
  
Suddenly, a knife sprouted from the half-vampire's back. No blood spilled; he could control the flow of his blood, and now he forced it away from the wound. With a grin, he pulled the knife out, spun, and caught the unsuspecting elf in the throat. As the blood spurted, he quickly sank his fangs into the elf's slender neck, draining, sucking, tasting the delicious blood. He sensed a movement behind him; he had forgotten about the other elf. He turned, and caught a glimpse of the stealthy elf fleeing, no doubt to inform the others of the awakening of his species.  
  
"Now we couldn't have that..." he muttered, an evil smile splitting his face. With unbelievable precision, he threw the knife. A faint scream told him that he had hit his target. He would be dealt with later.  
  
Turning his attention back on the first fallen elf, he lowered his fangs once again to the delicate neck. In minutes, the elf was drained of blood. He raised his arms to the sky.  
  
The ground parted, forming a shallow grave. He had discovered this power relatively quick, but he knew that he had many more unknown powers inside of him, waiting to be awoken. Discarding the drained elf into the grave, the ground closed, leaving not a trace of disturbance.  
  
The creature walked calmly to where he knew the second elf was. He grinned again as he caught sight of the knife pinning the graceful elf to a tree, impaled through his chest; the wickedly curved dagger was more than long enough, almost a short sword.  
  
Pulling the elf free of the tree he was impaled upon, the half-vampire smiled to himself.  
  
Tonight was a wonderful break from the repulsing orc blood. He had not yet found a blood more rich than that of the elven folk. Discarding the blood- stained knife, the creature lowered his head onto the elf's neck.  
  
Oh yes, tonight was wonderful. 


	4. Bloodthirsty Lust

"The human named Boromir. Ensure that he is killed. But do not reveal yourself to the rest of the Fellowship," the vampire hissed.  
  
"Any of the full Sanguine can easily accomplish what would strain me. Why am I sent?" the half-vampire questioned.  
  
"We cannot approach the Ranger," came the hissed reply, "It will be explained when you are raised. Which shall be after you have done what I ask." With that, the pale figure left.  
  
The half-vampire frowned for a second, thinking. He thought over what information the Sanguine had given him about Boromir. Suddenly, it hit him. Grinning to himself, he began to think of a name for himself; his old one long forgotten.  
  
Moridin. "Death" in the tongue of the vampires. Yes, it was a suitable name. Especially for what he planned to do.  
  
Moridin watched the Fellowship from afar, waiting for an opportunity. Sighing, he fidgeted impatiently. Patience was not his biggest virtue. Frustrated, Moridin closed his eyes, relaxing for a second. Unfortunately for him, he had underestimated the keenness of a certain's Elf's eyes.  
  
"It is watching us," Legolas whispered to Aragorn, "Ready your bow. It is waiting for something, otherwise it would likely have struck afore I noticed it."  
  
"Whatever the reason, I am glad, mellon. It may be what slew those elves in Lothlorien. I am ready to avenge my near-kin." Aragorn replied grimly. They had heard from the elven sentries in fair Lothlorien that two elves had disappeared, and later they had found a great mellorn tree, splattered with elven blood. As well as an elven dagger, covered in the same blood, discarded nearby.  
  
The initial reaction was that orcs must have done this. But no orc bodies were found, nor any orc blood; it was highly unlikely that an elf warrior would not sense orcs in the sacred forest, and just as unlikely that the elves would have fallen without slaying any of the foul creatures. No, there must be something else, something more powerful than orcs, but no less foul.  
  
And now, it was possibly watching them.  
  
"Legolas! Frodo is by himself! I must go find him!" Aragorn urgently whispered.  
  
"I dislike voicing my concerns, but I do not think I will be able to manage this beast alone, mellon. Remember that it may be the creature who was able to murder two elves seemingly without receiving any injury. But Frodo's safety is not a matter to be ignored. Ask Boromir to go warn the Hobbit, but warn him that he will not be able to take this beast alone. Have him return as fast as humanly possible."  
  
"A worthy plan, mellon," Aragorn looked at his friend with well-earned respect.  
  
Legolas watched Aragorn go and speak to the other human, all the while keeping the creature in the corner of his eye. Aragorn returned, and Boromir left at a leisured pace, certainly to avoid drawing attention to his leave.  
  
"Ready your bow, mellon. He is far over there," Legolas informed his friend.  
  
"I see him, mellon. I will strike on your word."  
  
Legolas watched the creature carefully, keeping his bow lowered so as to not alert it. He saw it sigh, then close its eyes for a second.  
  
"Now!" came the urgent whisper from the elf.  
  
Two bowstrings were drawn, and the next second, two arrows whirled through the air.  
  
Moridin opened his eyes, just in time to see two streaks approaching him. Before even his undead senses could react, the arrows found their target, one in his chest and the other through his throat. Startled, Moridin could not react fast enough to prevent the flow of dark blood spilling out. Cursing, he exerted his control over his blood, forcing it away from the wounds.  
  
Next, the wounds were the target of his concentration as he pulled the two arrows out. The pale skin knitted back together, repairing the injured flesh.  
  
'Fool!' he berated himself. He had not thought that they would be able to see him, and had grown careless. At least they had not killed him, as they must have thought. But the shots were not all in vain; the half-vampire had lost a fair deal of blood, and any amount of blood loss was potentially fatal to the undead creature. They would be coming to investigate soon.  
  
Scanning his eye over the Fellowship again, he noticed that the human Boromir was gone.  
  
'Probably heading for the Hobbit. It's now or never...'  
  
The ground parted below him, bringing him in, then closing above him.  
  
"There is no body," Legolas announced softly.  
  
"There is blood on the ground, mellon. I cannot fathom what creature it is from; it is much too dark for any species I know. At least we know it can bleed," Aragorn said grimly.  
  
Moridin tunneled through the ground, parting it near where the Hobbit sat. Rising, he kept himself hidden. He hoped that he had not lost too much blood; he had no time to feed, not when this may be his only chance, his only hope for fulfillment.  
  
He directed the flow of his blood. His pale skin reddened, achieving a natural human colour. His long fangs retracted slowly, and normal teeth popped out. His dead heart beated, and he forced himself to draw breath through darkened lungs. He doubted any now could tell on sight what he truly was.  
  
This guise was not without its cost though; he had required to sacrifice a part of his blood store to bring the changes upon himself, and the blood would not be recovered when they went. He needed to do this fast, then afterwards feed.  
  
Stalking silently through the trees, he saw the human up ahead. Stumbling out from behind the tree, he called out.  
  
"My lord Boromir! I must speak with you!"  
  
In a flash, Boromir had had his sword unsheathed and held at Moridin's throat. Cautiously, Moridin directed the flow of his blood away from the threatened area.  
  
"Lord Boromir! I bring a message from Minas Tirith, from your own Lord Father!" Moridin said, forcing a hint of panic into the words. Boromir must be convinced; this was his only chance.  
  
"What is it my father wishes? Speak, man!"  
  
"It's Lord Faramir! He has been struck by a Nazgul, foul servant of the Dark Lord! The healers have done all they can, but they claim that he cannot be helped, save by the dark power which spawned the illness! They say the Ring must be used to heal your brother, or he will surely die!" Moridin stumbled. His body was desperately in need of blood.  
  
"I...I cannot take the Ring...I will not...what is wrong? Are you injured?"  
  
"Do not worry about me, My Lord. Lord Faramir needs your help! I must return to Minas Tirith and inform the Lord Steward that his son has been found and now rides with the Ring to Minas Tirith, to cure his brother! I know you will not fail, My Lord." With that, Moridin turned and ran, forcing his speed to a believable human speed.  
  
"Wait! You don't understand! The Ring is not mine!" Boromir shouted after the "messenger", but the man was already out of sight. "My brother. Oh Faramir! I will not let you die!"  
  
Moridin smiled to himself. He knew Boromir loved his brother greatly, and that he would not let him die while it was within his power to stop it. He had needed to separate Frodo from the man, as the Hobbit might have heard his death screams.  
  
Suddenly, Moridin sensed them. Orcs, but not like usual orcs...the lust flared up in him, desperate even for foul Orc blood.  
  
'No! I must finish my task before...ahhhh it calls so!'  
  
His vision exploded in red. He had no choice. The lust, the rage had taken him. Hastily, he ran as fast as he could towards the incoming orcs. 


End file.
